Do Not Weep, War is Kind
by Emorly
Summary: A story based upon the poem "Do Not Weep, Maiden, War is Kind" by Stephen Crane. In memory of those who fought for our country. One Shot.


A/N: I do not own anything, with the exception of the characters you don't know or recognize. Any resemblance to real people is real coincidence. The poem is by Stephen Crane, called "Do Not Weep, Maiden, War is Kind." I have only borrowed it to finalize this story, and I swear that I have returned the book to the library so that others may be moved by this poem.

_____________________________

Grace paced the living room, as she had since her best friend left to fly bombers in the war. _I hope he's okay. _ She sat down in a chair, picked up her stitching, and immediately set it down again. She sat in a state of melancholy, staring out at nothing, imagining what he was doing. She saw his face, his kind smile, and his funny antics. She heard his voice saying, "Hey sis, be safe." She lost herself in the memories of better times.

The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. She got up, walked over to the door, and opened it.

"Mrs. Richard?" The man in uniform asked.

"No, sir, I'm her daughter. But I can take it." She smiled as she received the letter. "Thank you." She closed the door, and walked over to the dining room table. She sat down, and opened the letter. She didn't even look at the return address, she was so anxious to see how her brother was. When she opened the letter, the first words she saw was, "We regret to inform you…" She never finished the letter because she had broken down in tears.

William Richard pulled up hard on the control stick. The plane rose sharply, narrowly missing the spray of bullets from the enemy plane. He maneuvered the plane carefully and precisely, allowing the gunners to take out yet another enemy plane. A cheer rose up, but was cut short as another wave of bullets passed above the plane. A few stray bullets took out an engine, causing the plane to suddenly go into a steep spiral. The command came to bail out. Richard followed everyone else out, and as he jumped and pulled his parachute, his hands were forced up in the air. The plane exploded in a fireball behind him as it crashed into the side of a mountain. He was later found by a enemy patrol, and ended up in a prison camp to wait out the rest of the war.

_Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. _

_Because you lover threw wild hands toward the sky_

_And the affrighted steed ran on alone._

_Do not weep,_

_War is kind._

______________________________  
_

Twenty-year old George Chambers sat in a tank, anxiously awaiting the order to advance. When it came, he was ready. The tanks slowly moved forward, their guns ready to shoot at the slightest movement. An explosion shook the tank as it rolled over a mine, and George saw a flag flying over his head, held aloft by an angel. He thought of his son, playing with tiny tin soldiers. He saw his daughter, trying to knit her first pair of socks. He whispered goodbye to his wife as his feet lifted off the ground, and he joined the throng following the angel to the glory that awaited them.

_Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,_

_Little souls who thirst for fight,_

_These men were born to drill and die._

_The unexplained glory flies above them,_

_Great is the Battle-God, great, and his Kingdom –_

_In a field where a thousand corpses lie._

______________________________  
_

Rebecca Anderson, mother of a five-year old daughter, Lindsay, worried constantly about her husband, who was off in the war fighting against the Germans. When the dreaded letter came home, she sat in the living room for at least an hour, looking at the pictures of him and thinking about her husband.

Lindsay entered the room and, seeing her mother with tears streaking down her face, climbed into her lap. "Mommy, what's wrong?"

Rebecca sighed and thought carefully about how to phrase what she was about to tell her daughter. "Lindsay, your father's not coming home."

She looked at her mother. "Why?"

Rebecca stared out into space. "Sweetie, there are some bad people in the world. They are trying to kill innocent people because of what they think. Your father went to go fight them. These bad people killed your father as he fought them."

"Oh." Lindsay looked at her mother with tears in her eyes. "So he's not coming home?"

"No," Rebecca wiped away the tears, "no he's not." Fat tears rolled down cheeks as both mourned their dear friend.

John Anderson watched as the enemy approached their hiding spot. He waited for the silent signal to fire. He opened fire, and as the enemy returned fire, he felt a burning sensation in his chest. He looked down, and saw crimson blood staining the front of his uniform. He gasped for breath. "I love you, Rebecca and Lindsay." He died leaning against the yellow grass of the hill.

_Do not weep, babe, for war is kind._

_Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,_

_Raged at his breast, gulped and died,_

_Do not weep._

_War is kind._

______________________________  
_

James Williams drilled for days, anxious for the day when he could finally leave the barracks and actually experience war. He looked at the flag flying high and proud over the country, the red bright against the blue sky.

When the day actually came that he was to leave and go out into the battlefield, he was scared as could be. He was told where the enemy was, what they looked like, and what to expect. But nothing could prepare him for the slaughterhouse he was about to enter.

_Swift blazing flag of the regiment,_

_Eagle with crest of red and gold,_

_These men were born to drill and die._

_Point for them the virtue of slaughter,_

_Make plain to them the excellence of killing_

_And a field where a thousand corpses lie._

_____________________________

Charles Marx's pine box came home two days before his twenty-ninth birthday. Mary cried day and night, and nothing her husband could do would comfort her. When the day came for the funeral, Mary was silent, her eyes fixed on nothing but the flag draping her son's casket. _Oh why did I let you go, Charles? Why?_ Tears rolled down her cheeks as she fought to control her emotions. She thought she had been ready for her son to leave the house, but she hadn't expected it to be this way.

_Mother whose heart hung humble as a button_

_On the bright splendid shroud of your son,_

_Do not weep._

_War is kind._

______________________________  
_

Everyone stood at attention in Stalag 13. There was no noise except the breezes in the forest. "We stand silent, in memory of those who have lost their lives. Whether in this war, the previous war, or one before it, each of these men died honorably. Let us salute every single soul and tell them to rest peacefully: their deaths were not in vain." Every single man; English, French, American, Canadian or German all raised their hands simultaneously and snapped a smart salute to those who had fought for freedom, liberty and the rights of man.

_____________________________

Every single student stood quietly as the voice over the intercom intoned how the men and women who had fought the wars previous were honorable. "Let us rejoice in the lives of those who have passed on, and let us congratulate those who have survived. Have a good Memorial Day, students, and say hello to someone you know who has survived the horrors of war." Each of the students sat down and resumed working on the computers. _May you never be forgotten,_ thought one student,_ every single one of you._

_____________________________

A/N: This idea came to me in English Class when we read this poem. Sorry about it being after Memorial Day, but life got in the way. **Thank you to everyone who has fought for everything we now enjoy today. **


End file.
